


dread in my heart

by recryption



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 02:51:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7296541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recryption/pseuds/recryption
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fiddleford's voice echoes echoes echoes in your brain, telling you to beware the beast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dread in my heart

**Author's Note:**

> [ _theres a godawful shitty feeling of dread in my heart_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xGJdYxjkVBU)
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> [(tumblr link here)](http://recryption.tumblr.com/post/146438216064)

   For a long time, when you were in college getting your twelve PhDs, you had thought that you and Fiddleford were very, very similar.

   It was down to your names - your clumsy attitudes - your affinity for the paranormal - for a long time, ever since the ever-present Stan And Ford had been ripped apart, it was Fiddle And Ford (well, at least it was in your mind) and their adventures at university, talking, building, studying; it was years worth of a friendship, of science, of fun and awkward laughter and frantic cramming before tests and -

   It was Fiddle And Ford. It was you two against the world. You had loved your university years ( _ did it compare to the glory days of Stan And Ford? can you even make that comparison? no, no you can’t, not really, it would be unfair to both of them _ ), possibly even more than what it was now with your all-knowing muse, but Fiddleford had left you, like everyone did.

   Like almost everyone did.

   Bill didn’t leave you.

   Fiddleford (Fiddle And Ford, Fiddle And Ford, that was all gone now) had looked at you with scarily large pupils, repeating a mantra a  _ poem _ a  **_prophecy_ ** and you could feel Bill’s presence leaning over your shoulder, looking at your assistant disapprovingly. He was  _ angry _ . He was downright  _ furious _ . His eye was narrowed and his cane was tapping against your shoulder and he was nearly - was he shaking? Was he shaking in anger? His fists were clenched and yes, yes they were shaking, he was so  **_angrymadfurious_ ** it was -

   It was terrifying.

_    (WHEN GRAVITY FALLS AND EARTH BECOMES SKY BEWARE THE BEAST WITH JUST ONE EYE) _

   You had stayed awake, drinking black coffee, for four days, four entire days of repeating to yourself  _ can’t sleep! can’t sleep! can’t sleep! can’t -  _ **_oh, but FORDSY! I have so many things I need to TALK TO YOU ABOU_ ** _ \- NO, no, can’t sleep, can’t do it, have to work have to stay awake don’t want to talk to him  _ can’t  _ talk to him can’t sleep! _

_    (BEWARE THE BEAST BEWARE THE BEAST BE-) _

   The fifth day was silent.

   Bill was silent.

   It was very, very silent.

   In the silent space in your mind, there’s a rush of relief, a brief moment of respite, and something in your brain - this dam, this stone wall - fell apart and you pass out over your journals and your messy stacks of paper and the chewed pen you’re holding in your hand falls to the floor.

   “HELLO, BRAINIAC!”

   The mindscape is deathly silent and empty except for the eyes staring at you. Each one is glowing in an expanse of stars in blue space and there are thousands and thousands, each pupil slitted, each eye piercing your mask of calmness and you splinter and nearly shatter on the spot.

   “So, fiddleford got a bit ANGRY, didn’t he! He LEFT YOU, didn’t he!”

   “No, it’s not his-”

   “That wasn’t a QUESTION, IQ!” His voice echoes and his cackle rings through your brain.

   You shrink back. The eyes merge together into one and he emerges from space and he is positively  _ burning _ **_blazing_ ** with anger, fury, something past that - something that is absolutely demonic and hellish and he glows a bright crimson and his eyes are radiating heat and extra claws are springing out of his sides and you can see eyes and mouths and eyes and eyes and  _ so many eyes _ appearing out of thin air behind him-

   Bill  _ screams _ .

   You wake up.

   All around you, papers are scattered on the floor and on the desk and on your lap - the cup of pens and pencils (most of them gnawed on and bent up and broken in some way) you keep on your desk is knocked over. The Sharpies are still rolling to the floor. You barely register your heartbeat and your heavy breathing until you notice that it was your own body making those gasping sounds, your own body struggling for air, your own chest pounding so hard it hurts. You kneel down to gather up the papers.

_    (in your mind, Fiddleford’s voice echoes echoes echoes like a broken record. beware the beast beware the beast beware the beast) _

   Cipher is nowhere to be seen for days. You don’t sleep for days. In the part of your mind that’s still attached, that’s still thinking logically, reasonably, you know that he’s not angry at you. He has to be angry at Fiddleford. After all, it was Fiddleford’s own fault that he had gotten sucked into the machine. It was his decision to leave you - not your fault, not yours at all. Bill knew that. Bill knew you. Bill wouldn’t blame you for what had happened.

   You can barely keep your eyes open by the sixth day, but you force down another mug of coffee and try to figure out how to build this portal without Fiddleford’s expertise and knowledge.

   On the seventh day, you drop your glasses, and the corner cracks. Something easily fixable, honestly. You’re not sure what it is - the sleep deprivation, the stress of what happened a week ago, if it’s just your human emotions betraying you but you’re on the floor sobbing for no reason in particular, splinters digging their way into your hands as you fall and fall and fall and-

   You are asleep.

   Your mindscape is shattered. The boards and boards of information and equations have fallen to the ground in pieces, the chess boards and pawns and tea sets nowhere to be seen, the books clawed apart by something larger than life, something monstrous and horrifying and - it was Bill.

   You’re not quite sure why you tried denying it for so long.

   You float up towards where you usually play chess, but the table is broken in half. There’s - there’s so much wrong. So much broken. You could - you could fix it, it was your own mindscape, but there was so much progress lost ( _ maybe Bill could fix that, maybe he still remembered, of course he did but would he even want to help you anymore? _ ) and so many things to account for and.

   It’s not really the work that it takes to fix everything that’s getting to you, is it? No, the work was nothing. You summon yourself a chair with a snap, sit down, and wave your hand.

   The books are fixed. The chess sets and teacups are floating where they usually are. The whiteboards have reassembled themselves from the shards lying on the ground.

   Something about it feels so - so - you feel so vulnerable. So violated, that was the word. It felt so  _ violating _ . The mindscape was - important to you. It was important. It was so important and Bill had broken it all in a fit of rage towards Fiddleford and he had just  _ violated assaulted _ **_defiled_ ** all of it just- just like that, just in one terrifying moment of claws and eyes and anger anger  _ anger _ .

   You are so very numb. Something about it seems like a film, like you’re watching yourself through a blurry lens (tears? were they tears? that had to be it, right?). Everything around you seemed so fake. Was any of it real? Was Bill - the portal - the time spent with Fiddleford - had you faked your degree and lied to yourself all this time? Were you buried six feet under in the family cemetery after you had died in a car crash as you drove to your university for the first time? Was it- it was so fake fake fake fake  **fake** -

   “Brainiac, you’re disassociating.”

   Bill is there. He places a clawed hand against your shoulder and something about what he said echoes echoes echoes in your mind (disassociating - your mind was gone gone gone you needed to ground yourself) and you focus on the feeling of his claws pricking your shoulder and his weight leaning against you. Something in you turns over - something about this evokes a faint feeling of revulsion  _ (are you humiliated by your dependency? that can’t be it, Bill never made fun of you for it, but something is  _ wrong  _ about this)  _ but you crush it down, shuddering, and it seems like hours pass before finally something in your mind moves into focus and its like you finally put on your glasses again after hours of blurriness.

   “-Q? Fordsy? Ya in there? Haha, I know you’re not but come on, I want a response at least!”

   “What?”

   “Heh, knew you would respond eventually!” He doesn’t let go of your shoulder and you are thankful, so thankful that he hadn’t, your mind wasn’t all in your body yet and that grounding presence helped so, so much.

   “Listen, I’m sorry!” He stretches his arm out so that he can both touch your arm and look at you with his one eye. “Got a bit- carried away there, ya see. I know it wasn’t your fault! It’s just-” and he tightens his grip and you can see those eyes eyes eyes around him and his strange crimson color flares around you and you can see nothing but  _ red _ until he lets go - “Losin’ old mcdonald there is a pretty major setback! He did a lotta building and all that menial work, ya know. Someone’ll have to fill in and, well, you’re the only other person than me and him who knows about this whole shabang!”

   You register about half his words and stifle a snort at “old mcdonald.”

   He does his strange cackle-laugh. “Heh, still not all there yet, I see! No problem, no problem. The point is, I know that me destroying all this stuff wasn’t exactly the best idea. Sorry, really am! I know it was important to you! Listen, I know Fiddleford left you but I won’t, promise.”

   You nod. It was okay. He apologized and it was okay and he would never leave you like Fiddleford did. It  _ was _ Fiddleford’s fault for leaving you, anyway. He wasn’t a friend in the first place. Real friends wouldn’t just betray you like that.

_    (his voice echoes echoes echoes echoes) _

   You wake up to your glasses next to you, the crack in them that you had broke down over fixed up and the lens polished like they were brand new. You weakly smile and put them back on. Bill wouldn’t leave you hanging. Always had to have that last bit of effort put in, always had to make sure he got his message across. The familiar presence of Bill floating around you is there once more, and you get back to work, as eager as ever to open an interdimensional portal, eager as ever to break apart reality to see what lay  _ beyond _ .

_    (his voice echoes echoes ec-) _

**Author's Note:**

> if you refer to this as billford ill fillet you like a fish. anyway i havent written anything in awhile and [poses] here this is


End file.
